


Electric

by SaturnineMartial



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, M/M, S.S. Applebee2, Superheroes, THIS IS GOING TO BE GAY AS HELL, everybody's a human here, inspired by Real Men Wear Tights, more character tags coming, possibly a rating hike in the future
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-21 13:25:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/598256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaturnineMartial/pseuds/SaturnineMartial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are a lot of things that are pretty cool, you think.<br/>Computers are at the top of that list. So is house music, and Dr. House. Working at Best Buy is not too bad. School is nowhere near being cool though.<br/>You’re a little conflicted on leading a double-life though.</p><p>In which the Greatest Hero Who Ever Lived learns to stop being such a selfish douchebag.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There are a lot of things that are pretty cool, you think.

Computers are at the top of that list. So is house music, and Dr. House. Working at Best Buy is not too bad. School is nowhere near being cool though.

You’re a little conflicted on leading a double-life though.

Your name is Sollux Captor and you are currently stocking at Best Buy.

You’re alright with stocking. There’s minimal talking involved. People sort of make you nervous. You also have a lisp which is often made fun of. People are assholes. But you’re an asshole too.

It’s almost break time, you realize with horror. After your break, you have to work the floor. You don’t have to lift things while you’re on the floor, but you have to interact with people. Motherfuck. 

You finish up your current duties, go to the break room and slam a Monster, and emerge. Whatever. Let’s get this shit done.

Working the floor usually entails standing around the laptops and introducing yourself to customers and offering your help. Today is a slow day, however. It’s mid-afternoon on a   
Tuesday in late September. You thank Yahweh for the school rush being over with. You walk around, fiddling with the laptops, changing the desktops to awful pictures. You’ve   
just set an HP Pavilion’s desktop to have Chad Kroeger with Ramen Photoshopped onto his head when you see you have company.

Oh no, he’s hot.

He’s shorter than you, which is a given. He has this nice strawberry blonde hair with pale skin and a few freckles on his nose (oh no…freckles), with a grey v-neck displaying a freckles upper chest and nice collar bones, and skinny jeans. Oh, and he’s wearing fucking Aviators, inside.

What a total gaylord.

“Come here often?” he drawls.

He has nice lips.

You sigh, and do your duty. “Hi, can I help you with anything?”

“No thank you, Sollux. Thanks for offering.” You’re sure he glanced at your name tag, but you can’t see his fucking eyes through those dumbass sunglasses. Whatever. You go back to ignoring him, and he eventually leaves.

After a few uneventful hours, it’s seven o’clock and you’re free to go.

II

A graceful swan dive off an office building, and you’re crackling through the air in a haze of red, blue, and yellow. You’re really good at swan dives. The flying is okay, but the dives are a blast, no pun intended.

Your name is the Psiioniic, and you’re known as the Greatest Hero Who Ever Lived.

You think it’s an awful title to live up to, since technically it was given to your grandfather, who had been Psii before you. At least he hadn’t had to deal with Psii 2.0’s fans.

It’s a slow night. It’s nearing 3AM, and you haven’t had much to do. You decide to return to your apartment building.

You’re in apartment 611 (after descending the ladder from the roof) and you’re Sollux Captor again. Is it time to retire yet?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> INTRODUCING THE NEW FRIEND.................................................THE REAPER!
> 
> Also, Sollux's neighbor Rhodey has a party, Sol goes to fuck shit up, and talks to Dave (or is talked to by Dave).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, ya'll, I'm sorry for making ya'll wait so long!!! I've had ideas churning in my head the entire time but I hadn't had any inspiration for a good while. Then this happened! I've also been having devious ideas for this too, eheheheh.
> 
> rambling dave is my favorite dave

The next day, you’re not scheduled to work, but Roxy had asked you to cover for her. Something about taking Callie to the doctor. Roxy promises she’ll make it up to you, but you don’t entirely expect her to. Callie is eight and has a terrible immune system; and Roxy is working on her doctorate; and Jane, Roxy’s spouse, is a pretty important business woman.

So you go into work and try and sell TVs. They’re not really your strong point, but you gotta do what you gotta do.

(You could really go for some tacos.)

It’s a Thursday in mid-September, so business is slow. Whatever. Money isn’t an issue for you. You’re more than covered by “welfare,” plus you sometimes do coding jobs on the side. Best Buy is something to keep you occupied when you’re not being the Other Guy. Being the Other Guy is a career in its own, but everyone needs a good alter ego.  
You’ve been switching between Sollux and the Other Guy for a long-ass time now. Psiioniic 2.0 emerged when you were just eleven years old. Back then, Psii was depicted as a young spry hero in his late teens, and now the general public thinks him to be at least thirty.

It’s scary, being thirteen and having your other self sexualized by the masses.

Sometimes you just want to be Sollux Captor. Well, much of the time you do, to be realistic. Switching between two lives, two personas, two completely different people is a right pain in the ass, and sometimes not even worth it. Not worth the baggy clothes, or brown contact lenses, or fake lisp. You kind of really want to be a normal guy. One guy. Just Sollux. A normal guy with a normal life who can have close friends and go out at night and have fun and do normal-person stuff. 

It’s hard being a superhero. It’s hard, and no one understands.

You finish up the shift, leave without telling anyone goodbye, and pick up your tacos on the way to your complex. When you get up to your apartment, you sit around and fiddle around on the Internet for a while. It’s only six o’clock, and you normally don’t go out until around eight-thirty. None of your friends are online, which doesn’t surprise you too much; they’re all out going somewhere with their lives, while you sit in your apartment, alone, waiting for the clock to strike a certain hour.

Around seven, things start happening in your hall. People chattering, loud music in the apartment next door. Goddammit. Rhodey’s parties keep getting earlier and earlier. And on nights of parties, it’s a lot harder for you to abscond to the roof come the proper time.

You heave a sigh and decide to pay a visit.

You’ve been in Rhodey’s place plenty of times before, but this particular time may take the cake. There are more guests than normal, and that immediately puts you on edge.

Just to clarify, you feed off of energy. You can feed off of electronics, which is why Best Buy is a kickass place for you to work, and therefore you hardly have to sleep. But human energy also makes an overwhelming impact. Your psionics place you in the “psychic” class, which means you are very much in tune with your surroundings. You can feel others’ emotions, although normally you have to psychically reach out. In large crowds, however, emotion bombards you, and you start to go a little haywire.

(Your psi also means you are incredibly sensitive to touch, making handshakes a nightmare and hand—holding and kissing a no-go. Emotional energy is transferred a lot quicker through physical contact, making you, Sollux Captor, 23 years old, a virgin who’s never been kissed.)

There is a huge crowd in the apartment, people everywhere, and you start to hyperventilate just to keep your cool, so to speak. Your eyes sting and your fingertips crackle. You feel so warm and so full and energized and you could just sing and fly and possibly shoot optic blasts and—

“Hey dude.”

You turn to see a familiar face. It’s that douchelord from your job yesterday, complete with shades. “What,” you answer flatly.

“Fancy seeing you here, man, glad to see you got some semblance of life away from the Geek Squad. Gets real sad seeing the nerds cooped up in their pen for too long, think, hey, someone oughta let ‘em out for a little while, let ‘em play, and if they don’t come back, tough titties, they ain’t getting back in and they sure as hell won’t survive out there.”

Guy’s full of words. Even over the obnoxiously loud dubstep playing, you manage to catch all of that.

He sticks out his hand. “Name’s Dave. You’re Sollux, right? Or did I just commit some sort of party foul? Let me know, dude, I’m not up to snuff with my party rules.”

You wave off his hand. “Yeth, you raving lunatic, that ith my name.” You point to the Solo cup in his other hand. “Are you even old enough to be drinking that shit, man?”

Dave smirks. (He has nice lips.) “What makes you think I’m imbibing, my brother?” He leans in close as though he’s about to give you some sort of atomic secret only you are privy to. “It’s apple juice.”

“Wow. You’re even younger than what I had you pegged for.”

“Actually, man,” He pauses to take a gulp of his apple juice. “I’m not of age, but I am of driving. And between you and me, I just come to these things to watch people.”

“Creepy ath hell. And why do you commit thith watching of dubioth conthent?”

Your companion chuckles. “Research.”

“Oh my fucking god. That’th even creepier.”

“So what brings you here, Sol?” He takes being called creepy like a champ.

“Oh, you know, looking to kick my neighbor’th athh.” Fucking hell. The fake lisp is sometimes so not worth it. No, it’s never worth it, but you’ll keep trying.

Dave smirks again. “This is a normal thing, then. How often do you come over to break up the festivities? Tell me it’s a regular thing, man. Twice a week the music gets going and there’s kids out fucking on the balcony, smell of weed under your door, you go, ‘that’s it, man, that’s the last fucking straw’ and you march over here in your fucking Best Buy polo or your boxers and everyone takes off running, and dude’s like, ‘and I would’ve gotten away with it too, if it wasn’t for the stupid meddling nerd!’”

Wow. This dude can go for ages. He’s actually sort of funny too, even if he sounds crazy as hell. Unfortunately, you can’t stand here for much longer shooting the shit because you  
have to go threaten the host of this wack party and then go save the world or some shit.

“Lithen, dude, it wath interethting talking to you and thtuff, but I gotta go beat thome athh.”

Dave nods slowly. “Sure, man, I know where to find you.”

You don’t let your mind dwell on that very long as you find Rhodey and threaten to actually file a complaint this time, and then abscond the hell outta there.

Back in your apartment, you can breathe so much easier, but now you’re practically bouncing, overfilled with energy. If there’s not a lot happening tonight, you can at least fly a lot. You really enjoy flying.

You head to the single bathroom, where you stare into your tired-looking reflection. You always look unbearably tired, probably due to the fact that you hardly sleep and don’t eat very much (you don’t have to). Your dark brown hair sticks up in weird places and hangs in your face a little bit; it’s never been able to properly behave. You take out your contacts to reveal your freaky natural eye colors. Your left iris is a deep royal blue, and your right a bright crimson. 

You go into your bedroom to pick up your bodysuit. After shucking your work clothes, you slide into it. It’s a bright yellow with heavy black trim all over. On the front is a huge Ψ spanning your entire torso, and on the back, two columns connected by two thick lines, resembling the Gemini symbol (completely coincidental; when your grandfather had his own designed, he thought it just looked cool). The bodysuit also includes attached black “boots,” so essentially you’re wearing badass footie pajamas. You throw on your clothes over the suit, grab your mask, and abscond to the roof.

On the roof, you shed the clothes and put on your mask. It covers your entire head besides your eyes. You turn on the light show, which might be your favorite part: your eyes glow and lose all defining features, becoming creepy glow-y orbs. The lack of pupils or anything else is seen as more than a little unsettling by the general populace; you think it’s badass. 

You don’t wear gloves, as your hands are essential. If you tried using your psi while wearing gloves, the gloves would disintegrate. (You never wear anything on your hands, never gloves for winter, and not even a class ring; stuff on your hands bothers you.) You also don’t have fingerprints, so you don’t really have to worry about being identified.  
After hiding your clothes on the rooftop, you get a running start and then take off into the night sky, like the badass motherfucker you most certainly are. You fly around for a little bit, keeping an eye on the streets. Blue and red surrounds you to create a flashing purple haze.

“Hey Psii!” you hear. You search the ground until you find the source of the call: it’s your buddy the Reaper. He’s waving at you, and you descend.

“Hey man,” you say, doing a backstroke in the air around him. The Reaper is one of those super-strength guys; he wears a cloak and a hood with a rogue-like mask. You’re sure he’s several years older than you but the two of you make for a pretty good team. “’s looking good tonight?”

“Yeah, so far,” he replies, and starts walking; you follow, still floating. “Stop following me around, you helium-filled freak!”

You snicker and flip him the bird. You’re traveling the quiet sidewalks of midtown. You pass by storefronts; they’re all closed for the night.

“Whatcha been up to, Psii?”

“Oh, you know, same old, same old. Knocking back the wicked elixir, having copious amounts of sex of dubious consent, selling my body for money. Nothing new.”

Reaper chuckles. He can’t see your face, but he knows you’re joking (you think he hopes you’re joking). Sounds like a good life. Say, you got anyone special in your life? Just curious ‘n all.”

You scoff. “What, are you asking me out? Sorry, but I gotta decline. I am a lone wolf, motherfucker.”

The two of you laugh together. Reaper’s a pretty fun guy to hang around with, but your friendship is strictly out here on the streets.

You pass by more storefronts when you hear shuffling.

“—motherfuck, you’d better shut the fuck up, we’re gonna get caught—“

Reaper practically dives behind the corner market the arguing is coming from, and pulls out a couple of scruffy-looking guys. You practically yawn.

“These two lil’ shits was trying to break in,” Reaper informs you, gripping them both by their wrists.

You sigh. “Let them go.” Reaper hesitantly lets go of the would-be thieves, who take off running. “No, stop,” you call out lamely. You “cuff” their feet using your psionics, and they trip and fall face-first onto the pavement. “Tie’ em up.”

And so Reaper ties up their wrists and ankles, and the two of you leave them there in a classic PsiiReap Apprehension.

♊

When you get back after patrolling the streets, it’s about four AM. The party next door is all cleared out, thankfully. You slip into your apartment quietly to find that something had been slipped underneath the door. It was a small slip of paper. Written in red pen was:

_dave strider_  
(xxx)xxx-xxxx  
 _hit me up sometime, cutebutt_


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A migraine, and feelings, and  
> Dave what the fuck you don't just show up at people's doors

Sometimes you get awful migraines caused by the psionics.

This morning is one of those times.

You check your cell phone to find that it’s about 9.30. You practically crawl out of bed and turn off everything in the apartment, trying and nearly failing to be careful with the crackling psionics leaking out of your fingertips. Shit’s dangerous.

You return to your bedroom, turn off your cell phone and laptop, and collapse on your bed. You curl into a ball underneath the duvet.

Fuck Best Buy.

You cry a little. Fuck all, your powers have never been worth it. Not worth the hiding and secrets, or the migraines, or the people problems, or the fame, or even the grateful citizens you’ve saved. Goddamn would you kill to have your powers, like, not exist anymore. You just want to be normal, had a semi-normal childhood, more friends, an actual college degree, a real career…

And maybe your mom would still be alive. When she dies, you were too young to have an emotional attachment to her, but still, she was your mother and you were inside her for seven months.

And not that you don’t love your dads. Your Dad and your Pops have been together since you were three, and they just got married a couple years ago. Dad homeschooled you, and Pops was the breadwinner.

If your mom was still alive, you wouldn’t have Dad, probably.

Okay, maybe you are sort of thankful for the psi, in a twisted kind of way. You don’t like to think about it too much.

And you probably shouldn’t be thinking about anything at all right now, since your head is about to fucking explode. So you curl up even tighter, silent sobs wracking your body.

Your coping mechanisms could probably be better.

You stay in your little ball for an indeterminable amount of time until you hear someone banging on the front door. You roll out of bed grudgingly and trip all the way to the door. 

It’s Rhodey, your neighbor, and he is holding his phone.

Goddammit. You already know what is happening.

“Hey dude. You look like shit.”

“Feel like it too.”

“It’s your friend Mama Hen.”

You hate literally everything. Snatching the phone from Rhodey’s hand, you bark into it, “What the fuck do you want?”

“ _Knew it,_ ” comes your best friend Karkat’s voice.

_Bring me the phone back later_ Rhodey mouths, and returns to his apartment. You retreat to your own.

“Stop being an ass. What do you want? Shouldn’t you be at class or something?” you practically growl.

“ _Uh..no? Listen, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. Not hurt or anything._ ” Karkat Vantas has a reputation in your circle of friends as being the Mother Hen. He’s one of three people unrelated to you who know about your dumb secret. Right now he’s across the state working on his post-grad.

You heave a sigh. “Yeah. I’m fine. Migraine.”

“ _And you literally just lay in bed, didn’t you?_ ” 

“You know medicine doesn’t work for me…”

“ _Yeah, yeah. Listen, I need to go. I just needed to make sure you weren’t, like, dead or anything._ ”

“You’d probably know. I'm kind of a big deal.”

“ _Right, dude. Sometimes I forget you, of all fucking people, are famous. Anyway, gotta get to the hospital. Say hi to the family for me._ ”

“Yeah, hi to John.”

“ _Right, later_.”

You hang up and return the phone to its owner; you then return to your bedroom and create a Sollux burrito. You kind of enjoy wallowing in your misery. But you are burning up, so you sigh and go to the kitchen in search of alcohol, still wrapped in your blanket.

That note from last night is still on the counter. You forgo the cupboards and instead pick up the small slip of paper. You stare at it like it’s going to reveal some sort of secret only you are privy to. 

You’re pretty confused. Over the years, plenty of people have shown interest in the Psiioniic and his admittedly tight suit. But you, Sollux Captor, have only gotten very few second glances. 

You scowl at the writing on the paper. Cutebutt? Who even says that? Did he get a look in? You always try wearing baggy clothes…

Does the moderately cute boy actually think you’re cute too? You scowl at the writing like it’s going to give you answers.

Sollux.

Sollux, stop. 

Sollux, please. 

Your grandpa has always told you not to get into a relationship unless you were absolutely serious about it. After all, you have a secret second life that would be nearly impossible to hide if you decided to get that close with someone.

Dave Strider obviously plans on seeing you again. What do you do? Harmless flirting? Let him off easy? Are you desperate? Do you want to see him again? 

Stop that.

You grunt and toss the paper back onto the counter; it lands on the floor. You don’t bother picking it up; instead, you look for something to drink, something alcoholic.  
You try getting drunk off your ass, but that’s pretty much impossible, no thanks at all to your superhuman physiology. So you decide to go drown yourself in the shower. That doesn’t work either, but you are sort of starting to feel better. You putter around the apartment in nothing but boxers; you’ve decided not to go out tonight. 

It’s about six o’clock when there’s a knock on the door. You go to answer it, when you remember you’re almost naked. Jeans and a t-shirt come on hastily; you glance in the mirror and—right! Contacts!

You scramble to the door and find none other than Dave Strider.

“’Sup,” he says.

“Oh, uh…hey? What are you doing here?” Right, always so eloquent.

“Neighbor’s having another party, figured why don’t I drop by and visit.”

Wouldn't you know, he’s wearing those dumb sunglasses too.

“Uh, that’s fine I guess. Come in?”

“Sure, don’t mind if I do.” He walks in and sits on the couch. “So tell me about you.”

You sit on the other side of the couch. “Uhh…shit.” You haven’t met new people in a long time. “Well, I’m 23, my birthday’s in June, I’ve lived in this city my entire life. I have a bachelor’s degree in computer programming. And. I’m pretty boring, I guess.”

“Nah, man, you’re probably not. Got any siblings?”

“Nope, it’s just me. Don’t think I could handle siblings.”

Dave smirks. “My brother is thirty-six.”

“Wow. And you’re…?”

“Twenty. I know, right? Guy was probably looking at colleges and stuff and the ‘rents were like ‘by the way, there’s gonna be another one, so good luck paying for school.’ No harsh feelings though. We’re pretty close, probably as close as a grown man and his kid brother could be. What do your parents do for a living?”

This could go one of several ways. You decide to be truthful with him. “My Dad works from home, running a website for a big company. My Pops works in a cubicle.”

Dave nods slowly, like he’s taking it in. “Reasonable enough, I guess. Sounds like a sensible family, sorta like mine, except, you know, my bro’s a whole fucking lot older than I am, but, you know.”

Hm. He took that unexpectedly well.

The small talk continues; you find out he is from Houston and he is going to the university here to study filmmaking. He also has a “wildly popular” webcomic which he insists on you checking out.

Dave is pretty fun to talk to, pretty easy to banter with. He has a tendency to ramble but he is absolutely hilarious, telling you stories about when he was drumline captain in high school. He wears this little smirk like he knows he’s entertaining. It's madly cute. He's madly cute.

Dave ends up not going to the party, and the two of you instead make fun of old re-runs of The Jersey Shore and gross out over My Strange Addiction. 

He leaves with your phone number, but not before lowering his shades and giving you a wink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who's back  
> back again
> 
> In case you're wondering, Karkat has Rhodey's phone number because of whenever Sollux is acting as an invalid (drama queen) and Karkat worries too damn much.
> 
> guys I'm really sorry I take so long to update; I promise as soon as the story really gets going, the updates won't be like 2-3 weeks apart  
> gomen
> 
> also, find me on tumblr at nighttimeandpaint.tumblr.com
> 
> (my old account is magicalgirlsolluxcaptor but im deleting that one eheh)
> 
> anyway,  
> thanks for reading; I always appreciate your comments!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sollux reads fan fiction. And some background is added.

You wake up feeling considerably better than you did yesterday. You don’t feel like getting out of bed, so instead you reach for your laptop.

Since you spent so much of your life as a shut-in, you figure you’re very well acquainted with the dark corners of the Internet. You have a morbid curiosity for things you probably should know nothing about.

Feeling a little cocky, you open Chrome and Google yourself. Well, the Psiioniic, you mean. Sometimes you like to get a little insight, see if you’re doing any good, if crime rates have increased in certain parts of town.

Scroll. Scroll. Scroll. Nothing new or remotely interesting for several pages.

That’s how you end up on a site called Archive of Our Own. “Motherfuck,” you mutter. Fan fiction.

Fan fiction is the absolute worst. You know the Psiioniic’s popularity as an object of sex (you are literally never going to get over it though) and you know about the fan fiction and the fan art, and the shipping. Artists have been drawing the Psiioniic for years but their depictions of your package, ass, and nonexistent muscles are tame compared to the lewd art done by fans on the Internet.

You can’t keep yourself from looking, though, no matter how many times you’ve whisper-shouted at the computer screen “the suit doesn’t even fucking work like that! It’s one part, not two!” “wow okay is this even legal” “there are no acceptable substitutions for lube!” “goddamn I don’t have a fucking oral fixation” 

You inspect the current fan fiction a little closer. The only relationship tag that has been added is “The Psiioniic/The Reaper.”

Oh no.

You can’t fucking help it. You keep reading.

>   
>  There wasn’t much to be said after the job was completed, four more goons where locked away after a simple jewelry store break in. Nothing new. Nothing out of the ordinary. Then why had this night turned out so differently from every other night, how come the follow up to this bust lead to more than just the usual “high-five” or “pat on the back”?  
>  These where the questions the Psiioniic found himself to be asking as he attempted to wriggle out of the Reaper’s grasp. He was pinned against the wall in the ally way just adjacent to the jewelers they had previously saved, just out of the earshot of the police that had arrived to haul away the bad guys. He stood there indignantly, his eyes showing confusion and frustration through what little medium he had. He gazed at the Reaper from behind the mask that hid his chiseled facial features, his expression silently asking every question.  
>  The tight black and yellow suit offered little to no protection against the scratching of the rough brick wall behind him, and as he fidgeted beneath the toned man he was only shoved harder against the uncomfortable surface. This lead his confusion to quickly become anger, sparks of red and blue flashed from around his eyes as he stared back at Reaper’s dominating eyes.  
>  ”What the fuck are you doing man? Don’t make me do something I might regre-” The Reaper cut off the Psiioniic’s protesting by smashing his lips against the other’s, prodding his tongue at Psiioniic’s mouth until he was finally granted entrance. His tongue brushed over sharp teeth, and then ventured as far as to ghost a reluctant tongue. He was about to pull away before he felt Psiioniic’s mouth pushing against his own, working in conjunction with his impatient lips. Both mouths twisted into a smile and their tongues withdrew behind the respective lips.  
>  ”Well why didn’t you just say something?”  
>  ”I thought this would be a far more ‘productive’ means of getting your attention,” the Reaper retorted, putting extra emphasis on the word “productive”.  
>  ”Maybe you where right,” the Psiioniic let his actions do most of the talking as he reunited their lips. Sparks of energy danced from his tongue, shocking the Reaper in more ways than one. It was a pleasant feeling. Reaper’s hands started exploring the other body in front of him, rough, strong hand slid down the Psiioniic’s lean, toned sides.  
>  ”So was this your plan, to fuck me in this dark ally?” The Psiioniic asked jokingly, breaking the kiss for a moment before colliding their lips again.  
>  ”I didn’t expect to get this far,” he replied through what little breaths he could get in.  
> 

It goes on for about 3000 more words but you’ve had enough.  
“Oh my god!” you shriek, and throw the laptop across the bed. You are acting like a child about this, but you don’t give a fuck. You’re pretty sure your partner in justice is blissfully unaware of shit like this, making the situation a little less awkward.

You can’t help but to picture that scenario actually happening, and—wow, you literally hate your entire being. You groan and curl up under the covers as if that’s going to help you stop thinking about what it would be like to have sex with your friend.

The few non-relatives who know your secret are Karkat, John (his boyfriend), your other good friend Aradia, and your cousin’s fiancée Latula. You’d graduated with John, Karkat, and Aradia. Mituna, your cousin, had gotten the sour end of the “weird genes” deal and has a few screws loose so naturally his lady had to know. John and Karkat are the only ones who know about the smutty art and fan fiction. Karkat thinks it’s gross and likes to avoid the topic, while John, the fucker, pretty much lords it over you. You’re sure he never grew up, which is amusing when you think about the fact that he teaches seventh grade English. You swear it's because he's still stuck in seventh grade himself, but John insists that he thinks it's "cool because it promotes creativity."

You’d never really encountered fans until your dads put you in school when you were sixteen. You’d been homeschooled because large crowds have always made you jittery and sparky, but you’d mostly reined it in around the time kids your age were starting eleventh grade. You were put in school to “form relationships.” And you’d been astonished at how quickly that ended up happening. You still remember vividly when things fell into place for you: It was your first day at school, and the AP Chemistry teacher was passing out these forms for the class to fill out. Upon further inspection, it required your parents’ names, more specifically, your “mother and father.” You shot up your hand, the teacher called on you, and you said, “Yeah, uh, not all of us have a mom, so is it okay if I scratch out the ‘mother’ and put ‘father’?” She blinked owlishly, and you mentally gave yourself ten points for breaking the teacher on the first day. Truly your finest hour.

And then you met John and got tangled up with the band kids. John and all his friends were in the band, so you started hanging around them, and the director even started thinking you were in band. “Where’s the one kid?” he’d say. “Mr. Slick, he’s not in band,” they’d reply. And then you found out about the entire band’s fixation on the Psiioniic and you freaked a little. You saw the drawing of a magical girl Psiioniic on one of the bulletin boards in the band room (courtesy of one Nepeta Leijon, clarinet) and you freaked a lot.

Your phone buzzes on your nightstand. You groan and unburrow yourself. It’s Roxy, asking you if you would mind watching her daughter later. You reply with a "sure, why not?" 

Even though you don’t like to admit it, you never turn down a chance to go to the Crocker-Lalonde residence, especially if it’s to watch Callie. You don’t really like kids, but Calliope is an exception. She’s eight but she acts like she’s thirty-five. She’s polite and funny and, well, cute, and you always have a blast with her. You never really got to act like a kid when you were her age, so she brings out this side in you that you have sworn to never show anyone else. You’re pretty sure your actual superhuman powers lie in babysitting. 

No one ever has to know. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey ya'll! Like I promised, this update is a lot sooner than the others have been!
> 
> Anyway, the fanfiction in this chapter was actually written as a joke by my friend Wolfey, who said she ships PsiiReap. Go follow her on Tumblr. wolfeykitten.tumblr.com
> 
> I promise actual plot and things happening next chapter! Next chapter is going to be REALLY cute.
> 
> follow me on tumblr! I like to post random character facts and some discussion, using the tag #electric fic. rolandorzabal.tumblr.com


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